


Missing

by DigitalGhost



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous Introduction, Angst, Bucky Barnes Escapes, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Comic-Based, Dealing with Emotions, Emotional Confrontation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, External POV, Feels, Hurt, Hydra, Identity Issues, Marvel Comic Book-Based, Memories, Memory Loss, Over 2000 Words, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pronouns, Pychological Hurt, Quiet suffering, That's A Lot For Me, Traveling, Traveling Alone, United States Winter Soldier Mission, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Mission, Wow, angst-feast, angst-fest, comic-based, dealing with pain, identity dysphoria, lots of subtext, mental issues, soul searching, struggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalGhost/pseuds/DigitalGhost
Summary: Their commander was quiet a moment, eyes and body still. "Execute Protocol 2-A. Contact all sleeper agents within the country. This is a emergency high level mission."“..Sir? What exactly should we tell them?” One of the men asked after a moment. The surrounding agents were silent, slightly anxious of what was awaited them.The lead officer looked grim as he turned and began exiting the room. “Begin the search. The Winter Solder is missing.”





	Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *reads one marvel comic* I MUST WRITE A FIC  
> Also Me: *writes longest single chapter in my life* ...i think it should be longer
> 
> this is the most effort-receiving fic i've written so far ever, with me working on it all the time and the first chapter taking up half a notebook and me actually editing it!!! (what???) so anyway, i really hope you enjoy this!!! ^^
> 
> Note: watch the pronouns.

 

March 12, 1973.

 

The Dallas Texas Police Station was somewhat of a busy place; police officers occasionally straying in and out of the building, radio transmission much more frequent than the people of the law coming and going.

It just so happened that those authorized were not the only ones listening to the nearby radio waves.

Inside a neighboring building, artificial light lit up a dark room. Men watched monitors, listened to static chatter, and were pumping with adrenaline from their current not-so-legal activities.

They were watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

A static voice filled the small space. “Attention to all nearby units, we have a report of a body in the South Avenue Hotel Pool. It appears to have been an accident, but we cannot be sure at the moment. The body has yet to be identified. All local personnel, respond to the scene immediately.”

Wordlessly, the men in the dark room switched the monitor screens, redialed the radio channels, eyes and ears all searching for the unknown information.

A few minutes of silence passed. One man lifted a microphone to his lips, muttering quietly, “Motherbird to Alpha team, confirm Asset arrival.”

For a moment, there was nothing but static and distant police sirens.

“Alpha team to Motherbird, Asset arrival cannot be confirmed, it has not yet arrived to the extraction point.”

Skeptical looks were exchanged amongst the men. “Alpha team, did you say the Asset is not there?”

“Affirmative.”

A long moment of hesitation. “Search the cameras,” Ordered the man with the microphone, directed toward the other agents in the room.

They all clicked away at their screens, searching footage, running recognition software.

Minutes passed, with no appearance from “The Asset”, and no updates from the Alpha team.

“No sign of it… Sir? What do we do?” Asked a younger man, looking over at the man with the microphone, their commanding officer.

The officer stayed quiet a moment, eyes and body still.

“We must follow protocol, of course. Do what needs to be done. Contact the nearby sleeper-agents, but we’ll need to be very subtle about this…”

“..Sir? What should we tell them?” One of the men asked after a moment. The surrounding agents were silent, slightly anxious of what was to come next.

The lead officer looked grim as he turned and began exiting the room. “Execute Protocol 2-A. Begin the search for the Winter Soldier.”

 

* * *

 

While police officers were beginning to flock to the hotel, and undercover agents were stirred to action, nearby crowds milled and moved about like any ordinary day. Employees, families, adventurous teens, and people of all sorts went about their business, clueless to the scene just less than a few blocks away.

Within the crowd strode a person unlike the others, ever so slightly not as human as the rest.

Blue-gray eyes darted back and forth restlessly, analyzing the people and surroundings. As the man went his way down the street, the sleeve of the hand in his pocket shifted slightly, and a glint of silver could be seen in the faint sunlight, if one looked carefully. His posture was slightly hunched and downtrodden, shoulders burdened with more than just heavy muscle.

Its face betrayed no emotion, but of course, the Asset had been trained that way.

Then again, it had also only ever known training, missions with blurred victims, and cold, empty cryotubes.

So why did this feel so familiar?

The bustling people; the talk and chatter, for once, in English; the eye-catching advertisements and overshadowing buildings; there was a deep, ingrained feeling of familiarity that he’d never experienced before.

The Asset gritted its teeth and walked on, not shoving the deja vu down but just aside, for it was still in enemy territory, still surrounded by dozens (hundreds?) of potential threats. Internal feelings were secondary, and to be considered after the mission.

As time went on, the Winter Soldier found itself walking into the nearest train station, mindlessly fingering with cash in its pocket. How did it know where to go? Where did it get the money? How did…

Once sitting down in a train to Chicago, it saw the opportunity to acquire information, and acted accordingly.

“Excuse me,” He said, calling to use his English-speaking from who-knows-where. The man next to him looked over. “Could you tell me what year it is?”

“It’s 1973, sir,” The man said slowly, uneasy. “Um, are you… alright?”

The Asset did not reply.

The train began its journey, chugging along the tracks on the long road to Illinois.

Subtly eyeing the other passengers around it (including the man it’d asked for the year; he kept giving the Asset varied looks of unsettlement), it deducted that none were obvious threats. It did not loosen its grip on the small duffel bag it carried, but it did begin to address the less-than physical matters at hand.

The Winter Soldier… was confused. It being 1973… something about that… didn’t feel quite right to him.

It. To it.

The Asset scowled at itself and tried to subtly cause pain to one of the appendages, to stimulate brain functionality. Other passengers seemed to notice, and directed expressions of confusion at it. Wary of the attention of potential threats, it stopped.

Glancing out the window, scenery rolled past. Mountains, valleys, fields, ponds, barren flats. It was all very aesthetically pleasing, it would make for good sketching for-

The train of thought cut off, finding a dead end in the small trail of its engraved knowledge.

He…. was confused. No name or face, no solid memory came to his mind, just miniature fragments, bits and pieces. A golden smile… Or, was it golden hair? Eyes? No, that wouldn’t… A small, lean body, yet perfectly fit in his arms. Had he… the red star…. all he’d..ever…

 

 

“Dear, is this your stop?” I notice you’ve got a ticket there…”

He jolted awake, brought to consciousness by the conversation directed to him. An old, smiling woman was peering down at him, prodding his shoulder.

“Oh, uh-y-yes… uh, thank you,” He mumbled, standing up and grabbing his small bag. As he walked out into the station, searching for a spot to sit down, he held a hand up to his head.

He’d been sleeping? He was pretty sure he hadn’t done that before, on a moving train or not. A-And just now, with that old dame… his words had been fumbled, unsure… what…was happening?

The Asset - he - **it** \- decided now was the time to try and test out old ways.

 

* * *

 

The Asset could’ve rented an apartment just for the night. It did not feel the need to stay, however. The final destination was unclear, but wherever that was, Chicago was not it.

What the Asset did do, was purchase a large pack of ice from a nearby grocery store. It was late evening, and as the sun started to touch down on the distant skyline, the Winter Soldier looked for a private place to rest its unfortunately mostly human body.

It wandered the streets of Chicago, unconsciously peering down alleyways it knew would not be suitable. Dull blue eyes surveyed dark corners, blind spots behind trash cans, searching for something the mind had long forgotten.

_What was it looking for?_

At last, a small, empty alleyway. It warily eyed the citizens nearby, looking for anything of suspicion.

Nothing, at least in view. The Asset stepped into the alleyway, hauling its few belongings as well.

How many times had it been in an alleyway like this? Surely it couldn’t

_“You’re such an idiot, letting that heart o’ gold shine through how black n’ blue ya gonna get,” He chided, holding out a hand to help him up._

_“He was_ tormenting _her, though,” Said the smaller man, grunting. “You shoulda seen her face when-”_

_“When you showed your brave little ass and got beat to a pulp?” He shook his head, smirking. "One o’ these days, I’m gonna turn down into an alleyway and you’re just gonna be a pile o’ blonde hair and bruised skin."_

He stumbled, holding a hand out against the wall to steady himself. He didn't know anything about this small, blonde man. What were these-

_“Can’tya get beat up in someplace other than an alleyway? I mean, change it up a bit, c’mon” He strode casually, exiting the alleyway._

_“It’s not like I choose where they take me,” Said the smaller of the two. “They’re the ones hostin’, not me.”_

_“Still though. How ‘bout next time around, they take ya outside n’ you say to them, ‘hey, that sure is a nice parking lot over there, could’ya go beat me up over there instead?”_

_The blonde smiled, a golden one to match his hair, and his heart._

He dropped to his knees, trembling, and breathing heavy. These were not his memories. What were they doing inside its messed up hole of a brain?

Alleyway spinning, it unsteadily made its way over to a more private corner, hidden from unwanted eyes.

It dropped the duffel bag and removed the jacket from its body, now just holding the ice pack.

Muscles strangely sore, it managed to lay down on its back, cold cement searing through the cloth to its skin.

_“First, we must submerge the entire body in very cold temperatures, so that the brain chemicals and nervous systems will become more open and submissive.” Even through the sealed glass, that reedy voice was still ringing in its ears._

A feeling-less hand placed the ice pack onto the right arm, its more vulnerable twin. Cold slowly spread over the skin, seeping through the veins, numbing the nerves, much like its metal counterpart.

Once the limb was properly numbed, the same inhuman hand lifted the ice pack, and placed it on the left leg. The same feeling crept about from its thigh.

It continued the pattern, moving to the right leg, chest, and its left arm, for good measure. The method wasn’t as successful as the cryotubes and freezing chambers it was used to, but it would have to do.

Finally, body somewhat less tense, it moved the ice pack (now slightly melted) to its head, covering the entire face.

The ice blocked out everything. All it could see was darkness, and all he could feel was cold. Nerve-freezing, mind-numbing, pain-stealing cold. Even after all this time (little time or a lifespan, he could not be sure), not matter how many blurring triggers he pulled, how many faceless people fell in an instant, he always went back to the cold. Always the cold.

Always.

Cold.

Always

always

cold

always

always

  
  


 

 

 

_“What, ya need me to come tuck you into bed?” He closed the small apartment door._

_“You know that’s not it, Bu… Bu-” The small young man was interrupted by a fit of his own coughing, harsh and loud and heavy. They were relentless._

_“Hey, do ya really gotta be coughin’ like that? I’m tryin’ to talk to you here,” He mostly spoke to himself as he rushed over, blankets and medicine in hand._

_“And do you really always gotta be rushin’ to my side like some doctor? I don’t see why you’re wantin’ to go be a soldier when you’ve got all the nurse training done already.” The blonde said after a slow breath._

_“Pff…” He didn’t respond much, busy on carin’ for this little stubborn man o’ his._

_“Is that from Dr. Curtwell?” The coughing man asked after a moment, nodding over to the medicine._

_“Yeah, and I think you needa have some of that, ya might just be a tad little sick.”_

_“Heh. Forever and always.” The blonde muttered quietly, probably unaware that he could be heard._

_“Eat up,” He said as he gave him the medicine._

_There was silence as he swallowed the pills, and drank some run-down tap water to wash it down._

_As a side-effect of the medicine, it also caused fatigue, so it was no surprise when the golden eyelashes began drooping a few minutes later._

_“Here now, get warm before ya doze off…” He said, piling blankets on top of the younger man._

_“Mmm… you’re more warm though…” The sick man mumbled, eyes already closed._

_“Fine, be a punk, make me cuddle with you.” He smirked as he shuffled onto the small couch, getting beneath the blankets with him._

_“What’ld I do with out’ya, huh…” The blonde muttered sleepily, probably half-conscious, if that._

_“Probably die.” And that was the sad truth. “And I’d die without you, too, ya little punk. So you gotta stay here. Always.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ,,,this seemed so much longer on paper  
> Just to be clear that last memory was in a dream, and also just to be clear im 56% sure i didn't write the accents correctly *what you gonna do face*
> 
> Tell me your thoughts!!! I want to know how I can improve with this writing style so that the next chapter comes out even better. Even if you don't know what to say, just say something simple, or just a few heart emojis!! (I mean, if you even liked it that much) Every little bit is appreciated ^v^
> 
> Next chapter will be out sometime within a month, tops (probably)


End file.
